


You Could Rattle The Stars

by elesteria



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Implied Blowjobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elesteria/pseuds/elesteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Abe is a forest spirit, and Mihashi is the human that falls in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Could Rattle The Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhhh, I can explain? I can't. I really can't. I'm so far down the rabbit hole that there's no coming back.
> 
> AHHHH, Nana has drawn art for this fic and I haven't stopped screaming since! [Here](https://twitter.com/filledbuns/status/662135310411632640)!

Singing. Someone is singing.

Ren can hear it from the forest. He can’t make out the words, but the low throbbing hum is distinct. It sounds like his mother’s humming, when she’s standing in the yard, hanging clothes from the line. Her voice is quiet, and he only ever hears her when he gets close. This is different. It’s deeper, impossibly louder.

He stands up, eyes on the treeline. He can’t see anything from where he is, and he’s too afraid to step closer.

Except the tone of the sound changes, and it sounds sadder. Ren takes a step forward, and then another. It isn’t until the palm of his hand is pressed against one of the trees that he realizes how close he’s gotten. Curiosity tells him to go after the noise, and find the source. His own anxiety begs him to turn around and run.

He listens to the latter instinct, but only just. It isn’t until he’s in his room, the window shut firmly, that he wonders why he wanted to step into the forest in the first place.

:: :: ::

The neighbor tells Ren stories of the ghosts that live in the forest. She tells him when he brings her a pot of soup, and she offers to share it. She’s been living alone for two years now, her husband having passed. Once a week, Ren is sent to see her, with dinner in hand. More often than not, she asks if he’ll stay, says that she wouldn’t mind the company. His mother always told him to listen to his elders, so he never declines.

She speaks about the creatures that live in the sea, that lure sailors from their boats. The wolves that live in the mountains, feeding on each other during the winter months. Then she mentions the forest spirits and Ren’s attention snaps into crystal clear focus. She must see the way he reacts, because she pauses, spoons out the soup into bowls. She passes one to Ren, takes the other for herself, and finally sits at the table. Ren can feel his pulse fluttering in his throat, trepidation making his hands sweat.

“The forest spirits are the ones you need to watch out for,” she warns. The bowl of soup in front of Ren is ignored, in favor of hearing what his neighbor has to say. “They’ll lure you in any way they can. They’re good at mimicking us, so if you hear someone calling your name from the forest, think twice before you go looking.”

:: :: ::

“Most of the stories they’ll tell you are nothing but stories.” Ren’s mother brushes her hand through his hair, getting caught in the tangles. She works them out, painlessly. Her touch is enough to calm the shaking, even if his eyes are still wet with tears.

“They’ll tell you about all those brave little boys who went into the forest, and never came back home. They’ll say they went looking for something, or did it as a test of courage.” He doesn’t tell her about how he almost stepped into the woods, following a sound he couldn’t even be sure was real. “They won’t tell you that the stories are to keep children in their beds at night. To keep them from wandering too far from home. The monsters that steal those children in their stories, they’re nothing more than the imaginings of worried mothers.”

“Even if they were true, you’re much too small for any monster to want to eat. Too many bones.” She smiles, pinching gently at elbow. He finds no comfort in what she says.

:: :: ::

He’s running, spurred on by the sound of footsteps behind him. “Kids can be mean,” His father used to say, pulling Ren into a hug. He’d usually finish it with a “but it gets better.” Ren never believed the second part, but _kids can be mean_ , that was something he never doubted. He could feel it in the bruise forming along his ribs, aching and sore.

The kids always say that it was an accident, that they never meant it. The kids chasing behind him were liars. There were no accidents in the way they used their fists and gave chase. _Kids can be mean,_ especially if there’s no one there to see and stop it. Ren could only hope that his father was right, that it did get better.

He stumbles, feet slipping against the soft ground. He shrieks, hands shooting out to catch himself. His face is damp with tears, and he just wants to be safe in his room. He starts to push himself up, but quickly stops.

There’s two mud covered feet in front of his nose, startling Ren enough that he jumps back with a yelp, cradling his arm to his chest. It’s throbbing, and he hopes he didn’t sprain his wrist when he fell. He looks up, seeing a boy his own age. He’s got dark brown hair, and even darker eyes. He isn’t someone from the village, isn’t someone Ren recognizes, so he allows himself a moment to check behind him.

His hands are shaking, but he can’t hear the shouts from the other boys behind him anymore. He can’t hear anything but the sound of his own frantic breathing. He waits, waits to see if anyone comes out, but no one does. His shoulders shudder, because the boys must have gotten bored, and they might leave him alone for now.

He twists back to face the other boy, only to find him crouched down and very, very close.

“You’re more scared of them, than you are of me.” The boy states, a scowl on his face. He’s wearing a dusty yukata. There’s dirt smeared across his cheek, leaves in his hair, and Ren doesn’t know what to make of him. The boy’s expression twists into something he assumes is supposed to resemble a smile. His teeth are jagged sharp.

“I don’t,” Ren starts, voice catching in his throat. He can’t push the words out, can’t speak through his nerves.

“Don’t worry,” the boy reaches out. He pats Ren’s arm, jagged nails catching in the fabric of his clothes. “Too many bones.”

Ren jerks back, stumbles up to his feet, and he runs.

:: :: ::

Ren brings a bowl of soup into the forest, following the song that seems to reverberate through the trees. He follows it like he’s been told not to. He follows it until he finds the boy perched on a stump, dragging his nails through the lines, marking how old the tree had been when it had been cut down. The moment Ren notices him, he’s already looking up, eyes sharp.

“I wanted,” the words stutter to a stop in his mouth. He tries again, “I wanted to.”

He flushes, embarrassed at his inability to say what he wants to. His eyes feel damp, but instead of yelling, the boys only watching him, waiting. Ren isn’t used to that, is used to being told to spit out what he wants to say or to stop with the noise already.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry?” The boy jumps off of the tree stump, takes a few steps forward, pauses.

“For running away,” Ren blurts. He darts forward, holds out the bowl of soup, looking everywhere, besides at the boy.

He stills when the boy takes the bowl from him, watches from the corner of his eye. The boy throws back his head. Laughes. “You’re supposed to run.”

:: :: ::

“You can call me Abe,” the boy hums around a spoonful of soup.

“Mihashi,” he immediately chirps back. Abe narrows his eyes for a moment, before he nods slowly.

“Alright,” he shrugs. He finishes up the soup, presses the bowl back into Ren’s hands. Abe leaves, wanders back into the forest.

The song that Ren followed to find the boy in the woods, follows him back out as he makes his way home. This time though, he finds himself humming along.

:: :: ::

“You came back to apologize for running away from me, but what about the boys you were running away from first?” The question shocks Ren, has him frantically trying to think of a way to avoid answering.

“Where did you come from?” Ren shoots back. He sputters once he realizes what he’s said. He hides his face in his hands, ignores the fingers prodding at his side. Abe huffs, pulls his hands away from his face, and waits for Ren to look at him.

“Alright,” Abe says, as if it’s that easy.

He lays back down in the grass, Ren’s hands still held between his.

 _Alright,_ Ren thinks.

:: :: ::

Ren manages to hide it for months, and then years. The answer to the question he’d once been asked, about running. Back when Takaya had been Abe, and he’d been Mihashi. Except he forgets he’s hiding it, forgets he doesn’t want Takaya to know. He forgets, and he runs, runs until there’s a hand catching at his shirt and pulling him in.

He can’t see who it is through the tears, but he can smell dirt, and leaves, and he doesn’t need to see. He shudders, presses his face into Takaya’s chest.

“Sorry, Takaya.”

“No,” Ren jerks back when Takaya hisses at him. He sobs, tries to get away from the hands that are suddenly cradling his face so carefully.

“No,” Takaya repeats. “You don’t apologize. Not for this.”

His thumb gently traces over the skin of Ren’s cheek that’s red and swollen. Ren only cries harder, because now Takaya knows why he’s always running.

:: :: ::

Takaya kisses him once he’s stopped crying. He licks at Ren’s cheeks, holds him still, even when he tries to squirm away.

He doesn’t stop until Ren is laughing, pushing half heartedly at his shoulders. He smiles, something dark burning in his eyes. He pulls Ren against him, rolls them into the grass. He doesn’t let Ren ask about it.

He kisses Ren again, and again. Waits until he’s breathless. Then he’s gone, nosing at Ren’s hip.

Takaya’s name leaves his mouth on thready little gasps. Ren forgets how to breathe. He forgets to ask.

:: :: ::

“Haruna turned me,” Takaya states. It’s not what Ren expects, not when they’ve been sitting in silence for the past hour. He rolls over onto his side, watches Takaya with wide eyes, and waits. He doesn’t know how to answer, but it’s alright, because he knows he’s not expected to. “I was angry at him for it, for a very long time.”

“I get it now, though. Why he did it.” Takaya finally looks away from the sky, meets Ren’s gaze. “Loneliness can make us do stupid things.”

:: :: ::

“I’m tired,” Ren starts. Pauses.

The forest is quiet around them, and Takaya doesn’t break it. He waits, let’s Ren pick the words he wants to say.

He inhales deeply, eyes on the stars he can see through the trees. “I’m tired of running away.”

“Alright.”

:: :: ::

Takaya wipes his bloodied thumb across Ren’s cheek, eyes searching. He allows himself a moment to just look, watch the way his blood stains Ren’s lips. He never thought that he would ever feel the urge to do this, the need. After Haruna had turned him, only to leave him, he had sworn he would never turn another person.

Ren closes his eyes, sighs happily. His fingers are warm where they’re clutching at Takaya’s hips.

This is his last chance to stop, to kill this boy, and travel to the next forest. Collect another soul, and move on. That’s how it’s supposed to be.

He shakes his head, because this has already been decided. Decided back when this boy had come to say sorry for running away. This boy who sung with him was not someone he could so easily turn away. Then again, it was just as much his own desires to keep Ren with him, than it was anything else.

Takaya sings. Ren starts humming in turn, voice soft.

 _No more hesitation,_ Takaya thinks. He presses his hand flat against Ren’s chest, before he curls his fingers, lets them sink in. It doesn’t hurt, he knows that from personal experience, but he still worries. He eases his worry, puts it off to it being a fair trade.

He’s taking Ren’s heart, but he’s long since given the boy his own.

:: :: ::

Ren wakes up, with the stars still in the sky, and Takaya humming beside him. The song is familiar, soothing, when it had once been so frightening.

His hand is warm, clutched tightly in Takaya’s. There’s dirt under his cracked nails, but Takaya’s are the same, so it doesn’t matter. He squeezes his fingers, and Takaya looks down at him, smiles with something small and brittle.

“Are you scared of me yet?” Takaya asks, the fingers of his free hand plucking at Ren’s yukata.

“No,” Ren breathes, pushes himself up. He presses in against Takaya, readjusts their hands so their fingers are twined together. “I never was.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for day 8 of the Goretober prompt list... but it's a lot less gorey than is called for. Ritual Sacrifice. Yeah. Look how well that turned out. ANYWAYS.
> 
> If you want to come talk to me about headcanons or just anything at all: you can find me over at [tumblr](elutherya.tumblr.com), or [twitter](https://twitter.com/Elesteria).


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